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Ghost Company on Varda
+++Varda system, Sub-sector Cryptus, Sector Deus, Segmentum Obscurus+++ +++032.318.M41+++ Oppressive darkness permeated through the thick Vardan jungle. Brief glimmers of distant moonlight lanced through miniscule gaps in the jungle canopy, illuminating thin slices of vegetation. In one such light beam, a Vardan Tree Lizard was seemingly floating in midair, tongue flicking madly as it attempted to catch drifting Scrub Flies. It shifted its position, curling round in midair, walking on air, continuing its unending hunt for sustenance. “We’re in position, de-cloak now we’re still, these fields use a lot of power.” Scout Master Geron spoke through his vox with a low growl, and at once the grim outline of 4 Space Marines materialised in the jungle. Startled by the sudden visibility of its perch, the Lizard leapt from the Marine’s shoulder pad into the nearest tree, making a light rustling noise. Geron hissed angrily: “Dammit Turiel! Always check your entire surface before de-cloaking!” Un-shouldering his Stalker-pattern Boltgun, Turiel apologised: “Sorry master, it will not happen again.” The other 3 marine drew their weapons, suppressed Bolt pistols and long, broad mono-knives. “Yeah I’ve heard THAT one before.......anyway, the Ork encampment is exactly 65 metres north-north-east of here. Priamry objective: Recovery of STC fragment in possession of Warboss Ironbelcha. Secondary objective: Eliminate Warboss Ironbelcha. Intel from the Aspera Dominus indicates the STC, and Ironbelcha, are located here:” Inside the four Revenant’s helmets, orbital scans of the Ork encampment appeared in their vision, with one large ramshackle hut in the centre flashing gently. “Turiel will provide cover fire while Kargos, Prekan and I slip into the camp, eliminate any guards, recover the STC and terminate the warboss. All good?” 3 voices growled back in unison: “All good Master.” “Excellent. Activate cloaks.” The Space Marines once drifted back to invisibility once again, gently fading away until there was not a single trace of them viewable to the naked eye. Though to the outside observer the Marines were invisible, through their armour’s lenses the Revenants could see each other almost as clearly as if they were uncloaked, but with an unmistakable hazy edging so they know their brothers are cloaked. Geron ordered: “Move to primary positions.” The 4 Space Marines took off in different directions, not that anyone could have noticed that, of course. With barely a rush of air signifying their movements, the Marines took up the positions assigned to them before the mission. Turiel moved closer to the camp and deftly scaled a thick tree, perching on a large, relatively high branch, he had a wide view of the entire Ork encamptment. Placing his Bolter stock against his shoulder, he peered down the sights and relayed what he saw to his brothers: “Turiel, in position. One Ork in a watchtower, mounted twin-big shoota, seventeen Orks patrolling around the edges of the encampment, two Nobz guarding the warboss’ hut.” Turiel gently pulled out the heavy magazine from the bottom of his weapon, checking his ammunition. .75 calibre, solid Adamantium slugs, no explosion, quiet, efficient and elegant, his comrades were similarly equipped. Re-inserting the magazine, he once again looked down his sights, carefully monitoring every movement within the camp. The 2 Nobz were highly alert, most likely fearful of being caught sleeping on the job by their boss. He counted well over 350 of the greenskins, all slumbering noisily, the Ork force was not large enough to imbue them with the energy of the WAAGH, allowing Orks to stay mobile without sleep, but as it is they would require little rest. The Revenants had, at best, a 3 hour window in which to strike, they had to act fast, quiet, and deadly. Suddenly quiet voices sounded down his vox: “Prekan, in position.” “Geron, in position.” “Kargos, in position.” Geron gave instructions to his men: “Kargos, Prekan, wait until one of the sentries walks by you, eliminate them. Turiel, as we do that, eliminate the watchtower guard, remember, one in the head then one in the chest, Orks are tough bastards....” Turiel focussed his crosshairs on the Ork in the watchtower, leaning against his gun, he seemed barely awake. Keeping his gun trained on the Ork, he took his eye away from the sights, scanning the perimeter of the camp. Suddenly, 3 of the sentries were pulled into the surrounding forest, seemingly flying through mid-air. Geron hauled the Ork into the foliage, his hand clamped like a vice around its mouth, he plunged his blade into the base of the greenskin’s head from the back, forcing the knife forwards and upwards, the blade-tip emerged from the Ork’s skull just above its forehead. After a precious few seconds, the Ork stopped twitching, so Geron extracted his knife and gently laid the corpse on the jungle floor. Meanwhile, Turiel took care of the tower guard. Taking careful aim, the suppressed weapon stuttered twice. The first round impacted the Ork right between the eyes, effectively removing the top half of its head, the second round entered the torso, dead-centre, carving a massive whole through the Ork’s chest. It was dead before it hit the watchtower floor. Turiel spoke into his vox: “Target eliminated. Watchtower sentry.” Kargos was just in the process of hiding the body of the Ork sentry he killed in the jungle scrub, when a second sentry wandered past. The Sentry was startled to see an Ork body seemingly hauling itself under a bush. “Wot da zog......” Reacting fast, Kargos raised his pistol and lobotomised the Ork, leaping to its side, he caught the body as it fell, ensuring it made no noise by hitting the ground. Gently lowering it, he moved it under the bush along with the other corpse. “Targets eliminated, two times Ork sentry.” Hearing Turiel and Kargos’ words, Geron inquired to Prekan: “Prekan, Prekan! What is the status of your target?” Still without a response, Geron stalked angrily towards Prekan’s last position, 1 Ork!? Prekan should be able to kill that in his sleep..... Approaching the scene, he heard a grim munching sound. Fearing the worst, Geron raised his pistol as he approached the source of the sound. The scene he came across was startling, the Ork laid on the ground, chest split open, and Prekan’s floating head was chewing on something, blood running down his chin. He had been consuming the Ork’s heart. Placing his gun barrel against Prekan’s temple, Geron hissed with barely contained fury: “Put your helmet back on, right now, or I swear to the Emperor I’ll execute you here and now for endangering the mission.” As Prekan replaced his helmet, Geron continued his tirade: “If I EVER find you disobeying orders so you can consume something, I WILL kill you. I never wanted you to join this unit in the first place, and you’ve been trouble for me ever since you did.” Prekan scowled: “Pfff, you can’t just kill me, Arcon would-“ He was interrupted by Geron’s condescending tone: “Arcon would what? We’re in combat, bad things happen in combat, and the Chapter Council trusts ME. As for the rest of the Chapter, you don’t exist, remember? As far as they know you’re on the other side of the galaxy with the Deathwatch.” Realising Geron had every advantage over him, Prekan angrily stalked back into position, and Geron returned to his place, eliminating the Ork sentries one-by-one as they passed by. Once all the Ork sentries were dead, Geron gave the order: “Alright marines, move in.” Geron, Kargos and Prekan moved in unison towards the centre of the camp, and the large hut of the warboss. Prekan and Geron reached the rear of the hut first, meanwhile, Kargos was having trouble, he had encountered a particularly dense cluster of Orks he could not bypass. Whispering to Turiel, he orchestrated a way by. Moving towards 2 Orks propped up against an empty oil drum, snoring noisily. Crouching in front of one of them, Kargos gently but firmly plunged his knife down through the beast’s skull as he clamped his other hand over its mouth. Meanwhile, the Ork on the other side of the drum emitted a fine pink mist as two rounds from Turiel’s Boltgun slammed into it, again in the head and chest. With the path now clear, Kargos joined Prekan and Geron behind the hut. Geron spoke softly to them: “The two are Nobz, real tough Grox-turds they are, you two take the one to the left, Turiel and I will take the one on the right. Ready?” Once again the 3 voices answered together: “Ready Master.” “Do it.” Sneaking round the hut, Kargos and Prekan moved in front of the Nob. Standing right in front of the beast, protected only by their invisibility, they could hear the gruff breaths of the greenskin, standing around 50% taller than the Ork sentries that they had dealt with so far, and with thicker bones to match, this wouldn’t be easy. Nodding to Kargos, Prekan readied his blade, plunging it into the Nob’s neck, pinning it against the hut wall, he jammed his hand over its mouth to keep it silent, whilst Kargos emptied his pistol magazine directly into the greenskin’s head at point-blank range. It was thoroughly deceased. Geron and Turiel concurrently dealt with the other Nob, positioning himself behind it, Geron wrapped his arms firmly around the creature’s mouth and neck, holding his head to the side, squeezing harder, he heard the Nob’s bones start to crack and crunch, as it struggled furiously. Suddenly, a Bolt tore through its head and the struggling ceased, lowering the body down, Geron put several more shots from his pistol into the head. “Excellent shot Turiel.” “My pleasure Scout Master.” Nodding approvingly to the other 2 marines as they placed the other Nob’s corpse on the floor, he raised his Bolt Pistol in both hands, signalling the others to follow suit. They gently entered the hut, guns aimed, into the building. Seeing a small Imperial dataslate on a nearby table, Geron investigated, flashing through the info, he realised this was the STC they were looking for, putting it in his belt, he moved further into the hut with the other 2. They saw the hulking warboss splayed out on the floor, packed with dense moss that had been gathered for his comfort, snoring uproariously, the colossal Ork was at least 3 times bigger than the Nobz in front. Their pistols and knives were pitiful weapons to try and kill an Ork warboss, even one who was asleep, but, as always, Geron had planned everything perfectly. Each marine took a Melta bomb from his belt, primed it, and gently slid it next to the slumbering Ork. Before they took their hands away, they hesitated, the moment they let go of the bombs they would exit the armours cloaking field, and become visible, if the warboss awakened and noticed them, the three of them would be as good as dead. They let go as one, and the Melta bombs materialised, Ironbelcha grumbled in his sleep, and the three Marines held their breath and raised their pistols. The Revenants remained perfectly still for several seconds, each one watching the Ork’s face intently. Once it became clear he was still asleep, they backed out of the room. Outside again, the Marines moved towards the edge of the camp, stepping carefully by sleeping Orks. Everything had gone perfectly to plan. Unfortunately, when dealing with Orks, something going ‘according to plan’ does by no means guarantee success, for the greenskins are utterly unpredictable. Something the Revenant team were about to learn. In one of the smaller huts, nearer the edge of the camp, Mekboy Skullscrambla (a curious moniker earned due to his penchant for experimenting with mind-altering technology) was tinkering with his latest labour of love, a machine he hoped would work by exploding the brain of anyone he fired it at. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Ork technology is not known for its reliability, so when Skullscrambla attached the weapon to a large battery, it let out an alarming hum that increased in intensity. “Aww zog it! Wot gubbinz ‘az I got rong dis time!?!” The hum reached catastrophic levels, when suddenly the weapon unleashed a large pulse that extending throughout the encampment, causing havoc with the Ork’s electronics, and the Space Marine’s Revenant suits. Though the Power Armour’s motive electronics were well defended against the EM pulse, the delicate cloaking technology was not so hardy. The three marines were halfway towards the edge of the camp when the pulse hit them, acting fast, Geron yelled down his vox: “OUR CLOAKS ARE DOWN! RUN FOR THE TREE-LINE! TURIEL, COVER US!” As Orks awakened all around them from the noises of tortured electronics throughout the camp, the 3 Marines sprinted through them, blasting with their pistols and slashing with their blades. Not wanting the warboss to exit the hut and leave the range of the bombs, Geron took out the Melta bomb detonator and flipped the switch, the central hut was incinerated in an enormous explosion, no Ork, not even the hefty warboss, could have survived in that hut. Every Ork in the camp was wide-awake now, fortunately most of them still did not realise there were 3 Space Marines in their midst, but many had realised, and were attempting to take them down. An Ork had managed to climb up to the top of the watchtower, and was stitching the ground around the fleeing Marines with bullets from the twin-Big shoota. However he was soon silenced by the familiar double-shot burst of Turiel. As more Orks swarmed them, the Marines had slowed their pace, slicing and shooting furiously, struggling towards the tree line. Suddenly a large Nob reared up in front of Geron, choppa upraised ready to strike. Just in time, the Ork’s head disintegrated as Turiel’s Bolt round passed through it. Despite their best efforts, the safety of the thick forest looked ever more distant as more Orks surrounded them, the Marines were not even moving forward now, so overwhelmed were they by the greenskins. Out of ammo, the 3 of them hacked and punched madly, while Turiel unleashed Bolt after Bolt into the packed green mass. Suddenly, Geron’s HUD lit up with an important message: CLOAKING ABILITIES RESTORED “We’ve got our cloaks back! Activate!!!” The Marines faded away, even as they sliced away at the Orks, and were soon completely invisible once more. The Orks were utterly confused: “WOT!?!?! WER DID THA DAMN HUMIES’ GO!?!?!?” “I FINKS DEY SUM O’ DEM MAGIK HUMIES, OL’ SKULLSCRAMBLA SEZ SUM HUMIES’ CAN TELLYPORT ‘EMSELVES!” The Revenants took advantage of the situation and beat a hasty retreat, regrouping with Turiel and climbing up the tree to join him. Kargos was confused: “Master, should we not be making good our escape?” Geron replied: “Nay Kargos, in a few minutes this entire jungle will be teeming with Orks searching for us, we’d never escape, our only hope is to eliminate them now, fortunately the ‘Destiny’ is on station.” Pressing a few button on his wrist interface, Geron spoke: “This is Scout Master Geron contacting the Space Marine Strike Cruiser ‘Destiny’, please respond.” A hazy voice replied across the channel: “Reading you Scout Master, what do you need?” “I need an orbital bombardment on grid reference 12.436/85.882, officer approval code 1725-8943-0781.” After a few moments the Destiny replied: “Approval code accepted, please confirm, orbital bombardment on grid reference 12.436/85.882?” “Confirmed Destiny, unleash hell.” Geron turned to his marines: “You heard the man, get your heads down, danger close!” Within a few seconds the first Lance round slammed into the Ork camp, instantly followed by the scream of it cutting through the atmosphere, the sound of which took longer to reach the ground than the beam itself. 4 more Lance rounds followed, shaking the earth for hundreds of metres around and evaporating Orks by the dozen. Once the dust had settled, the Revenants set off towards their extraction point, a small landing craft hidden in the scrub some 6 miles away, taken from ‘Destiny’s’ launch bay, Geron had used his approval code to ensure the Lander’s absence would not be noticed by the Destiny’s crew, nor would their sensors detect it flying around. For the existence of the Ghost Company of Revenants must remain a secret, so their assets must be utilised in such a way that no one else ever knows they were used. Back on the Destiny, 2 junior artillery officers were discussing the recent bombardment: “I’m just saying, there was NO record of ANY Space Marine mission in that entire 100 mile area, why the hell did Scout Master Geron request a bombardment there?” “Hell if I know mate, but that was a high-level code he gave us, coulda ordered a full scale landing craft assault with authorisation like THAT! Anyway, it’s not for us to question the actions of the Space Marines, ask no questions, hear no lies.” The first officer sighed resignedly, then stood up from his chair and started to walk off: “Ehhhh......I guess you’re right....well, better go re-calibrate the Lances after that bombardment, c’mon, we gotta job to do....” Category:Stories Narratives and Fluff